Tarnished Haven
by iamthelie
Summary: Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.
1. False Advertising

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter One: False Advertising**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,050  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. Someone told me I couldn't top Lost Pretense, and I don't think I can, really. But in lieu of paying for everyone who read Lost Pretense to have therapy, which I definitely couldn't afford, I started this...

* * *

**False Advertising**

He'd seen bodies before. It didn't scare him. Death wasn't something that had really bothered him, not for a long time. He still couldn't stand seeing someone's innards, but that was different. This wasn't a massacre, wasn't a butchering. It was just a death.

A death with no apparent cause.

He knelt next to the body—Hank, the man's name had been Hank, and he was one of the oldest living citizens of this forsaken pit of land. Born here, would die here, Hank always said. But for a man in his eighties, he was still going strong. He could have had a heart attack. Maybe it was just his time. That was what they would say.

He wasn't really sure why that bothered him. He didn't even know Hank, not that well, and why should he care that the man was dead in the first place?

_Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,_ a small voice said in the back of his head.

He didn't disagree, suppressing a shiver as he stood, leaving Hank's body where he'd found it. It wouldn't do any good to report it. It would be much better if they thought he had no idea what was going on here. As long as they believed that, he was safe enough.

* * *

"Turn it off." It was a familiar order, barked loudly and impatiently from the hallway. If she heard even one mention of the Gibson case, of the new campaign against such crimes by Gibson's gloating opponents, or anything to do with the name Hoyt. She never came into the room, never watched the TV or picked up a newspaper, refused to listen to anyone talk about it.

"You helped solve one of the biggest, most heinous crimes in the country," Howard Stiles observed, setting his coat down on the back of a chair in the break room. "I would think that would make you happy."

"Happy?" Jordan asked, stopping in the hallway, just outside the door. "Sure, I'm happy we stopped it from going any further. I'm not happy we let it go on for so long. I'm not happy that it cost Woody everything he had, and I'm not happy he's gone. How's that for emotional honesty, Howie?"

Stiles smiled at her. "I'm impressed, Jordan. You seem to be dealing with your emotions in a different way than usual."

"You mean, I'm not running?" she teased, a faint smile on her lips. She pulled at a loose curl and shrugged. "If I ran, maybe someone couldn't find me when he decided he wanted to."

Howard raised his eyebrows. "Are we admitting to feeling something, Dr. Cavanaugh?"

She smiled. "I'm hungry, actually. You?"

"Sadly, no," he said. "I ate before I came, the better to serve my adoring public."

"Adoring, huh? You mean Kate?" Jordan laughed. "Well, it's not that time again, Howie. I'm not due a visit until next month. I know that for a fact. And I've got a lot of work to do on this case... So I really don't have time to chat."

"You can't avoid me forever, Jordan," he reminded her. She wondered if, not for the first time, he had been Rumpelstiltskin in another life, or some other evil elf.

"Oh, but rest assured, I will try," Jordan called over her shoulder, heading back into autopsy one. She pulled on a pair of gloves and looked at Nigel. "Who called Stiles on me?"

"Wasn't me love," Nigel protested. "Actually, you've been better about all this than we thought you would be."

"You're still here," Bug observed dryly.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "I'm done with the running thing, okay? Can we please concentrate on John Doe here? Do we have an id yet?"

"Afraid not, love. But we do have a something that will intrigue you," Nigel began, beckoning her over to look at what he had found in the blood sample. "How does our pitiful hobo overdose on the highest quality designer drug?"

"You're kidding, right?" Jordan asked, but she looked over the results anyway. Yep, there it was. The latest one to hit the streets, it was a mix of ecstasy and a hallucinogen, one hell of a nasty way to party, even worse way to die. "How could he have gotten this stuff? It's so dangerous it's become too expensive for rich people. That girl last week could have gotten it, maybe, but this guy?"

"And how did that suburban housewife do it last month?" Nigel added. "I agree, our rich girl from upstate New York, she could have gotten it. Maybe. But these two... I don't think so."

Jordan looked at the results. "That's more than anyone would take unless they _meant _to overdose. These people didn't all commit suicide. And most of them weren't addicts, were they?"

"Oh, our bum might have been, but it's been cheap booze for him for a long time," Nigel said, looking at the body with a strange pity. "Our girl from New York was on... Let's see here..."

"Prozac," Bug finished. "She was only on prescription drugs according to her parents."

"Unless her parents are lying, and Seely, naturally thinks they were," Jordan said, frowning. Bug snorted, his opinion of Seely clear. She smiled. Even after helping to deliver Lily's baby and taking charge of them both, Bug was _still _ jealous. "Still, it doesn't make sense. Maybe our street bum wanted to end it, but Mrs. Connors? She was pregnant, looking forward to her third child."

She pulled her hand away from her own stomach. It wasn't like she was sharing any similar hope. She wasn't even dating. She'd tried, but they weren't Woody. And they were a little put off by the ring that she couldn't get off her finger. She hadn't really wanted to, but it wasn't budging. Since she didn't feel like surgery, it was staying put. "It could have been accidental."

"Are you kidding me?"

"People have overdosed on sweaters before, remember?" she asked. "What if this drug is being distributed in a unexpected way?"

"Should we put an APB out on sweaters again, then?" Nigel asked, looking down at his keyboard. She knew it was because she had—almost—brought up Woody. That had been taboo around her for almost a year.

She thought for a minute. "What about the stomach contents?"

"You think it's in their food?" Bug asked, coming around the counter. "What could possibly have that much of this stuff in it without them noticing it? That all of them ate?"

"Not just them," Nigel muttered. "I just did a search. There are fatal overdoses from this drug all over the country. Not just the state, the _country_."

Jordan frowned. That didn't make sense. This drug was rare and dangerous. How could it be so widespread all of a sudden? "Bug, what was in the stomach contents?"

"Not much for our John Doe here, but milk, tuna fish sandwich..." Bug looked down at his papers.

"Did you say milk?" Nigel asked, spinning around in his seat. "As in the liquid that comes from a large bovine?"

"Yes, milk," Bug muttered impatiently. "Why?"

"Because the first reported case was on a dairy farm in a small town called Haven." Nigel shrugged. "I suppose it _doesn't _do a body good, now does it?"

* * *

"So Hank finally went down," one of the others said. "The old mule. I thought he'd go kickin' and screamin' but it seems like he went fast, in his sleep almost."

He waited, not saying anything. Hank didn't die in his sleep, and he doubted that was a heart attack. It was too much like the overdose they'd found two months ago. He knew addicts, and Clyde had been one, but something about Clyde's death bothered him as well.

"Old man was bound to keel over one day," Reuben agreed. "Don't know why it didn't happen sooner."

"Milk," the farmhands toasted, clinking the beer mugs and bottles together. "Old Hank swore he'd never die as long as he got his daily dose."

They broke out into loud laughter, sharing their favorite "Old Hank" stories. He paid for his beer and left, walking out into the street. The cool air of night was refreshing after the stale beer and cigarettes. He still wanted the drink, but it was too crowded in the bar.

He walked down the road a bit, enjoying the fall weather. The leaves had changed, and fall was coming in briskly. This was his favorite time of year. He wasn't sure why, and he'd decided not to analyze too much anymore. He'd done plenty of that lately. Soul searching. Analyzing. He'd considered seeing a shrink, but he didn't feel like reliving all the trauma in an effort to "heal."

Most days, he was done with all that. That life was behind him, the pain and everything else, even the good. It was over, and he didn't real mind too much. It was easier now, easier not to have to pretend, easier now that he understood _why _he did the things he did. It was a relief to have it all over, to have this fresh start. It was going well.

Except...

Except there were things he missed. People. He wasn't going back for them, but he hadn't forgotten them, either. He remembered stupid things, like Sherpa boots and moonshine—there was some of that around, Old Hank had been a bootlegger in his day—and he couldn't shake his instincts. He felt their pull now, telling him to look into Hank's death, into Clyde's.

He had sworn that he wouldn't get involved. That wasn't him, not anymore. He was a regular Joe, with a regular job. He had a room in a boarding house, and he was free to go as he saw fit, just one of many passing through. This place wasn't home. He didn't have one, didn't want one. He wasn't involved.

He was an outsider here, and whatever was going on, they would not make him a part of it. He wanted no part in it, didn't even want to know what it was. He had been here long enough to know that it was time to move on.

"Hey, Drifter," he heard on of the local boys call out to him. Great. Drunk and stupid, they'd left the bar and somehow managed to find him. He hadn't been going anywhere in particular, and not very fast, but he had been hoping to avoid them.

"Slim," he greeted the man, wondering why every small town had a "Slim." This one, at least, was not one of the ironically named Slims. He was as tall and thin as his name implied.

"So, we're gonna go out to Hank's and toast him a few," Slim began. "You wanna come with?"

He shook his head. Knowing these idiots, they'd burn the place down. Reuben adjusted his ball cap. "Hey, I got a better idea. Let's go tip some cows."

The others broke out laughing again, full belly laughs because of the drink rather than actual humor. He closed his eyes with a wince. It was definitely time to move on.

"In a minute, boys," Johnny agreed, the quiet one, the leader. He wasn't as drunk as the others, and something about him set off every warning bell he possessed. "First, we gotta know something, Drifter. You out by Hank's place last night?"

He eyed the other man warily. "I didn't see anything last night."

"Not what I asked, is it?" Johnny said. He stepped closer, leaning in menacingly. "But at least you've got the sense to be blind, right, boys? You understand me, Drifter. It don't pay to have eyes here. Or ears."

"I'm just passing through," he said, standing his ground. "That's all."

Johnny grunted. "We'll see about that. Seems to me, you're right cozy with someone you shouldn't be cozy with. Now, if I was you, I'd do that leaving thing quick."

He looked at Johnny, at Slim and the other laughing idiots. If he asked if it was a threat, Johnny would say it was a promise. "I go where I want."

"Ain't that the truth," Johnny muttered. "But you see, there's this thing about trespassing... Those who do it end up getting shot."


	2. Small Town Matters

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Two: Small Town Matters**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,382  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. Someone told me I couldn't top Lost Pretense, and I don't think I can, really. But in lieu of paying for everyone who read Lost Pretense to have therapy, which I definitely couldn't afford, I started this... Not entirely happy with it, but I think once I finally get past the set up, things will be much better...

* * *

**Small Town Matters**

"Let me get this straight," Garret said, folding his arms over his chest. He was standing next to Renee Walcott, which was never a good sign, but she was actually _smiling. _Okay, it was a smirk, but Walcott was enjoying herself. "You want to go to some small town in the middle of nowhere because you have a wild theory—without a shred of evidence—that the deaths are all connected to something happening there?"

Jordan took a deep breath. Nigel looked at her. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"So what exactly are you asking for, Jordan? Time off or my blessing?" Garret asked. He was scrutinizing them both, and Nigel was starting to fidget. Jordan elbowed him. She had to do this. She knew that the answers were in Haven. They had to be. So many overdoses spread out among so many people in different states and circumstances, it _had _to be connected. Haven was the most likely spot.

"Time off," she said finally. "I'll go on my own, Garret."

"Like hell you will," Garret disagreed. "Nigel, this is your crack-pot theory, too, isn't it?"

"Why do I get the sinking feeling that my luxurious vacation in the beautiful sun and sand has just degenerated into a low budget hotel in the middle of nowhere?" Nigel muttered. He looked at Jordan, and she shrugged in apology. "So... Haven... Think they have a spa? Or even a—"

"We'll be lucky if they have a Wal-Mart," Jordan interrupted. "But thank you, Nigel."

He shook his head, muttering to himself. She smiled at him, then looked at Garret. "So... Do I get the time off, Garret?"

He sighed. Renee shook her head, laughing. "Let them go, Garret. Actually, I'm glad to see Doctor Cavanaugh chasing her wild theories again. My job has been dull without having to explain the antics of your office."

"So, you missed me?" Jordan teased. She looked at Garret. "Nothing like absence to make the heart fonder, right?"

He sighed. "All right, Jordan. You have your time off. One week. You find something to back up your crazy theory or you come home, you understand me?"

"Of course I do," Jordan agreed with a smile. She knew as well as he did that she'd be back when she felt like coming back, and she didn't think it would be a week from now. "Come on, Nigel. We have plans to make. We'll need a car and—"

"And a lot of booze," Nigel said under his breath.

She laughed, but she stepped forward and gave Garret a hug before she turned and hurried down the hallway. She couldn't wait to get started. She hadn't felt like this about a case in almost a year. And it felt pretty damn good.

* * *

"I can't believe how far this town is from anywhere," Nigel said as he turned down yet another country lane. This one was dirt, as the last five had been. Crops were everywhere, the only thing in sight for miles. America's heartland, right? It was beautiful out here, everything except Nigel's constant complaining. His cellphone didn't work out here, his laptop had run out of battery an hour ago, and he'd forgotten the car charger...

Never travel with a tech geek separated from his toys. It was not a pleasant experience.

"Nigel, I am sorry you got roped into this, but you were the one who said Haven was probably the place where it all started."

"I'm too brilliant for my own good, it seems," Nigel agreed. He slowed down as they passed the sign for Haven. A painter was adjusting the population number.

"Hey, look, they're growing," she joked as Nigel parked in front of the local bed and breakfast. That was where they would be staying. She'd been surprised to find one in town, but it had the small inn and a boarding house, popular with their seasonal workers.

"I'll check us in," Nigel offered. She smiled, knowing he was only doing it because he wanted to get his laptop charging.

She pointed across the street. "I'll go check in with the sheriff."

Nigel popped the trunk and started unloading their suitcases. She walked over to the plain wooden building across the street. The town was half Norman Rockwell, half Wild West, with a little modernization thrown in here and there. She opened the door, heard the bell ring above her head. "Sheriff Matters? I'm Jordan Cavanaugh. We spoke on the phone."

"Ah, Doctor Cavanaugh," the portly man in the brown uniform said, getting up from his desk. He ran a hand over his thinning hair self-consciously. "Good to see you. Very good."

"I'm surprised," she murmured. "Most people tell me to take my theories and... Well, never mind that. So... a town of fifty-six. Must be nice. Everyone knows each other, that sort of thing?"

He chuckled, rubbing his gray mustache. "We're not as close as all that. But it is a nice place. Get a few extra hands during the summer and fall, but they move on. Most of us were born and raised here, though. There aren't many secrets, that's for sure."

"Still, fifty-six," Jordan said.

"Sign's wrong again, actually," Matters said. He sighed. "Lost Old Hank two days ago. And Ellen Tanner had twins. Sign's seen more paint in the last two months than it has in years."

"Seems pretty quiet," Jordan said, looking out at the town. A few people passed through it, most of them looking at the rental car more than once. It was probably more excitement than Haven saw in the better part of a year. Matters started for the door, and she followed him out on to the sidewalk.

"Oh, Granger and the other boys get up to their usual high spirits after a bit too much in Reilly's bar. Same with some of the other cowhands. But it is usually pretty quiet," Matters agreed. "Until Clyde died, that is. Quiet for a bit, then Hank, and one of the workers has gone missing. He could have moved on without saying anything, though."

Jordan quietly made a note of that for her own reference. She doubted it was that simple. "So, you're generally able to keep the peace on your own?"

"Yep, pretty much," Matters smiled. "This isn't like your Boston, Doctor. We're simple people, with simple problems most times. I do have a man who's helped me out a few times. I'd like to deputize him, but he keeps refusing."

She frowned. "Not much money in it?"

Matters shook his head. "It's not that. He says he's not staying. He came as a migrant worker, and he plans on leaving that way."

"Well, plans are one thing," Jordan said, looking for Nigel. He should have come to join her by now. "I don't make many plans. Less disappointment that way."

"City folk," Matters said, shaking his head. "Here, come this way. I'll show you where we found Clyde."

"What about Old Hank? How did he die?"

"Old age. He was eighty-five, eighty-six," Matters answered. "Was his time."

She followed Matters out into the fields, through several rows of corn. The whole region was agricultural, corn farms, wheat farms, and dairy farms everywhere. She admired its beauty, but she couldn't stand its proximity. The smell of the cows was over everything, and the corn was taller than her and brushing against her with every step.

"Hey," Matters called out to a man kneeling next to a depression in the field. The other man stood; his coat fluttering in the slight breeze, a trench coat that seemed so out of place here. "Oh, Hoyt. It's you."

"Hoyt?" Jordan asked, fighting a huge lump in her throat.

"Oh, yeah. Dr. Cavanaugh, this is Will Hoyt. We call him Drifter around here," Matters introduced, pulling her towards a stranger that was anything but. She felt her heart pounding, could barely hear Matters' voice over her heartbeat in her ears. "Drifter, this is Dr. Cavanaugh. She's from Boston."

Woody looked at her, then closed his eyes as if in pain. "I know."


	3. Forgot to Remember to Forget

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Three: Forgot to Remember to Forget**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,074  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. Someone told me I couldn't top Lost Pretense, and I don't think I can, really. But in lieu of paying for everyone who read Lost Pretense to have therapy, which I definitely couldn't afford, I started this...Don't own the song I borrowed the chapter title from, either...

* * *

**Forgot to Remember to Forget**

"Jordan, love, what's the matter?" Nigel asked, touching her hand as he sat down across from her in the booth. He hadn't exactly expected her to go straight to the pub after she spoke to the sheriff, but then again, he hadn't seen her act like this over a case in a long time. She'd grabbed a hold of a crazy theory and run with it, something she hadn't done since Woody left Boston. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

She smiled grimly. "I guess you could say that."

"Okay," Nigel began slowly. "That requires an explanation."

She shook her head. "Explanations require beer."

Though Nigel knew better, he nodded and got up again, crossing over to the bar. He ordered two beers and watched some of the locals compete in a rowdy game of darts. The tall one missed the board completely, and the others booed him. "Come on, Slim. You can do better than that."

"Yeah," the one in the red ball cap agreed. "One of us has to break Drifter's record."

"Might help if you were sober," a quiet voice said, and Nigel turned in shock. Now _he _was seeing a ghost. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, in the flesh, after nearly a year without a trace, without any contact. Nigel felt a hand tap him on the back. He looked, finding Jordan holding the beer and pointing to their booth.

He nodded numbly and followed her. She sat. "So... You've seen the ghost."

"Sweet Nancy, Jordan, what is he doing here?" Nigel asked. "You don't hear from him in a year, and suddenly he's just here?"

She laughed. "He was here first, Nigel. He's been here for a while, actually."

Nigel drank from the beer, wishing for a bit of the Townsend family recipe about now. "Why is he here?"

"If I knew that, that would mean he was actually talking to me," Jordan said with a bitter laugh. "The sheriff introduced us, and there I am standing like some kind of deer, headlights coming right at me, when he turns and walks away. Just leaves. And then I get to explain to the sheriff how I used to know him... Can't even remember what I said, but he looked at me like I had another head."

"It would have been just as lovely as your first one," Nigel soothed. He turned, watching Woody take a place at the end of the bar and nurse a scotch. Now there was a man in need of some serious drinking. And the ear of a friend. Trouble was, Jordan needed Nigel, too.

"Thank you, Nigel," she said, rolling her eyes. She put her head down on the table. "Why did he have to be here? And why does he have to look so good?"

Nigel looked at her. Blinded by love, obviously. Woody had lost weight, was definitely not sleeping well, and he couldn't be happy. His back was hunched, and that old wound of his was probably giving him trouble, especially doing the work to be found around here.

"If it's any consolation, Jordan, you look better," Nigel told her.

She looked up. "You think so?"

"I do indeed. I even would go so far as to bet that any one of those rowdy cowhands would make a play for you the minute you stood up," Nigel encouraged. "Why not let Woodrow see what he's missing?"

She took a swig of the beer. "You know, you're right. I should."

Nigel suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. "Um, love, maybe—"

But she had already crossed the room, not to the cowhands but to Woody himself. She rubbed his back for a second, and he looked up in surprise. He started to stand, and Jordan caught him by the jacket collar, kissing him passionately.

Then she let him go and walked out of the bar.

Nigel looked at Woody over the hoots and calls of the other patrons. That hadn't been what he had in mind at all. But that was Jordan Cavanaugh for you. Always unexpected.

* * *

"Need another one?"

He looked up to see Nigel standing next to him. It figured. She wouldn't have come here alone, not unless she was running, and she wouldn't have run here. She came here chasing a case, and that meant that Clyde's death and possibly Hank's were bigger than he thought and that at least one of her "gang" was with her. It was Nigel, and that made sense.

"I am a little worried about letting you buy me a beer, Nigel," he said finally.

Nigel grinned. "Have no fear, Woodrow. You are safe from my amorous advances here. I'm not so sure we can say the same about that Slim over there. I caught him eying you."

He choked on his scotch. "Nigel, that man and his fellow hoodlums are one step from pummeling me into the ground."

"Foreplay," Nigel said, and Woody shook his head, trying not to get sick on the bar. Nigel cursed softly. "Damn, Woody, I'm sorry. I didn't think—"

"It's fine, Nigel," he cut the Brit off quickly. That was a subject he did not discuss. It was enough that he remembered it now. He would not talk about it, though. "Why are you here?"

Nigel smiled. "Wanted to ask you the same thing, Woodrow. What appeal does this charming little town have for you?"

Woody finished his scotch. "It wasn't Boston. It wasn't Kewaunee. It was just... a place to be. A place where the rest of the world hardly exists. None of these people know me; they don't know about that case... That's the appeal, Nigel. Anonymity."

"You could have had that in a dozen different places," Nigel said.

Woody shrugged. "The name appealed to me. Haven. One of those things, I guess. They run a program for troubled youths out here, Haven House. Some work the farms, some learn trades. It seemed like a good place."

"Until people started dying?" Nigel finished. "We had three deaths over the course of a month. All overdoses, designer drug. This stuff isn't pretty, Woody. Ecstasy mixed with a hallucinogen."

Woody cursed softly. "They claimed it was just ecstasy. That Clyde must have brought it into town."

"Jordan's theory is that it's being distributed _through _here, through the dairy farms, specifically," Nigel explained. "The milk."

"I'm not even going to ask," Woody muttered. It was like Jordan to make that wild leap. "But why Haven?"

"First reported death was here," Nigel said. "And you know Jordan, when she's got a wild theory..."

"Yeah," Woody agreed. "She shouldn't be here. Neither should you. This town doesn't talk to outsiders. Oh, Matters asked me for help—I've done a bit for him before, actually. I found Clyde, and my knowledge of crime scene investigation had him wanting to deputize me on the spot, but I told him I watched too much TV."

Nigel smiled, but it wasn't much of one. "How dangerous is this place, Woody?"

Woody smiled grimly. "I'm not sure yet. I'm not sure how far this thing goes, or who is involved. But my guess is, Haven is rotten to the core."

* * *

Jordan rolled out of her bed and somehow stumbled into clothes. She couldn't remember how much she'd had to drink last night, couldn't remember what she'd done for sure, but she had a bad feeling about it, and she _did _remember crying herself to sleep. All in all, it was a bad night.

She brushed her tangled hair and pulled it back into a bun, not wanting to mess with it today. Finished, she headed down to the dining room. Nigel was already there, and he looked worse than she did. He smiled weakly.

She sat down. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Wasn't the drink," Nigel muttered. "I fear for your children, love. You and Woodrow have a bad habit of finding trouble."

"Don't start," Jordan warned. "Where' s the coffee?"

"Over there," Nigel pointed to the counter. She got up and fixed herself a cup. She looked at the food and decided against it. All she wanted was the coffee.

Sitting back down, she looked at Nigel. "So... You talked to Woody."

"For a while, yes," Nigel agreed. "He didn't have a lot to say."

"Does he know what's going on here?" she asked, turning her spoon in her coffee absently.

"Enough to know we shouldn't be here," Nigel answered. "He's probably right, Jordan. You said this town had fifty-six people in it, right? Most of them born and raised here? Who is going to talk to us? They won't even talk to him, and he's been here six months."

Jordan shrugged. "I'm not leaving, Nigel."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Nigel muttered. "But I have to know... Is it because he's here, or because of the case?"

She looked at Nigel. That was a question he didn't even need to ask. He knew better. "I promised that I wouldn't look for him. I said I wouldn't. I haven't. And now I found him by accident. I'm not leaving. Not until he does, not unless someone makes me."

Nigel nodded. "I was afraid of that, too."

* * *

"Heard there was a bit of a show last night," Matters observed, sitting across from Woody in the diner. He had thought the table would be enough to deter visitors. He didn't usually have company for breakfast, for any of his meals, and he was hoping that today wouldn't be the exception. He didn't want to see Jordan or Nigel. He wasn't in the mood to talk. But apparently he was wrong. The booth wasn't enough.

"Fireworks? I didn't hear anything," Woody muttered, reaching for his coffee. He found ignorance the best defense here in Haven.

"No, no fireworks," Matters corrected. "Happened in Reilly's. That doctor that came to town. Seems she knows you."

"She _thinks_ she does," he complained, wishing that he could lace the coffee with some sort of alcohol. Or arsenic. He didn't really care as long as it meant avoiding these situations. "I haven't seen her in a year, Sheriff. And whatever was there... It isn't anymore."

"Still, seems odd, these new visitors showing up here. And them knowing you," Matters went on. "A bit of a coincidence, isn't it?"

"Honestly, Matters, if I had known they'd show up, I wouldn't be here," Woody grumbled. None of his food looked appetizing anymore, but he took a bite of his eggs anyway. He had to pretend everything was normal, even if they weren't.

"Heard she kissed you. Good looking woman that doctor," Matters continued. His manner was friendly, but Woody didn't like it. He just wanted the other man to go away. "You one of them that don't like women?"

"I like women," Woody cut him off quickly. He didn't need everyone thinking that he was gay. He wasn't. He wasn't ready to date again, but that was a different matter. "I like them fine. That woman... She and I have a past, but it doesn't have a future."

"Now that's a shame, a real shame," Matters said. He signaled to Wendy, and she came over and refilled their coffee. She smiled at Matters and ignored Woody. They all did. Matters was the only one to show any interest in Woody, and that was bad enough. "A good looking woman like that, and she seems to care about you, Hoyt. You should think about it."

Woody was troubled by the sensation that it wasn't a suggestion; it was a warning. "I will."

Matters smiled. It was a little too warm. He was trying too hard to be friendly, disarming. He had a tendency to act as the town's messenger of goodwill, but it had never bothered Woody before. Now it did. A lot. He pushed his food away, taking out his wallet. Matters touched his hand.

"Oh, let me, Drifter," Matters said. "You can pay me back by telling me all about that doctor of yours. Sure is a pretty little filly."

"And you're a married man," Woody said, getting to his feet. If he was quick, maybe he'd get out to the far pasture before Jordan got out of bed.

"Sheriff, Sheriff," young Billy Timms called, coming into the diner, the door banging as the bell chimed. "Sheriff, we found that cowhand. He's out by the creek. He's dead."


	4. Shoulder to Shoulder

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Four: Shoulder to Shoulder**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,738  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. Not so sure this part counts.

* * *

**Shoulder to Shoulder**

"That is _not _an overdose," he said, looking down at the body. The blood staining the nearby grass, the large hunting knife jutting from the man's chest, the multiple cuts and defensive wounds, all pointed to one thing: murder. He closed his eyes for a second, wanting to will it away. The overdoses were negligence, maybe. But now it was murder. And Jordan was here in the middle of it.

He didn't want her here. He couldn't change that she was. He knew she wouldn't leave, not now that she knew where he was. Or that there was a murder involved.

Yesterday, they'd been saying that Terrance Morehand was gone. That he'd packed up and moved on as all the others had, just a simple migrant worker out for a quick buck or two before moving on. It was a story they wanted everyone to believe, and Woody had to wonder how many times they'd used it.

"Don't need my medical degree to tell you that," that particular she-devil agreed, coming up next to him. He had expected her to come as soon as the alarm was raised. It was Jordan, after all. She couldn't stay away from this, not even if she tried. "Let's see... Male, about five-eleven, maybe hundred eighty pounds, cause of death seems to be the rather obvious knife sticking out of his chest... Rigor's gone, he's been dead at least seventy-two hours, possibly more."

"Seems odd," Woody observed. "Someone should have seen him yesterday."

He studied the nearby area. There was a sprinkling of leaves littering the field, picked up and shifted by the wind every few minutes. He looked down at Morehand again. "They didn't do a good enough job of hiding him. Must have used leaves for a cover, and they blew away."

Nigel reached down to pick up a loose leaf. "Looks like you're right, Woodrow."

"There's condensation on his skin and clothes. He was here at dawn," Jordan added. "I guess the wind must have picked up last night, uncovered the body."

"Still... seventy-two hours," Woody mused. "The killer would have had enough time to come back and move the body. It doesn't make sense to leave it here. It was bound to get discovered."

Jordan nodded. Next to them, Matters cleared his throat. "Sure am glad to have you folks around. Ain't been a killing round these parts since Old Dobbs' hunting accident. He missed a duck and shot Roy Trent, and that damn fool let it get infected and died from it."

Woody stood. He had forgotten what he was doing again, just like when he'd found Clyde. He was acting like a cop again. He _wasn't _a cop. He was just a simple man, doing simple work, and he _would_ move on. He liked the idea of moving place-to-place, never settling in one spot.

Jordan turned to Nigel, who handed her a pair of gloves and offered one to Woody. He stared at them for a moment, afraid to take them. That wasn't what he wanted, not anymore. He was not a cop. How many times did he have to repeat that, to himself or someone else?

She took the gloves from Nigel and stuck them in Woody's hand. "Look at his arm. He's got defensive wounds all over."

"Must have been quite the fight," Nigel said, looking around. He took a few more pictures and shifted absently. Woody looked at Morehead again, wondering where this struggle had taken place. Not here. There wasn't enough disturbance in the surrounding area.

"We need a tox screen," he said after a minute. "I remember seeing him work with the cows. He was strong. Picked up a sick heifer like she weighed nothing. I don't think he would have gone down on his own. He probably had at least a drink."

"Or maybe he was drugged," Jordan finished. She looked at him with a smile, and he turned away from it, shielding his eyes as he studied the field.

"That's it, Hoyt. I don't care what you say," Matters announced. "I'm deputizing you. Right now."

Woody closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He was _not _a cop.

* * *

"Deputy Hoyt, huh?" Jordan asked as they stood over the body in the local doctor's office. Matters had called in the state investigative team, so she was here strictly as an observer. So was Woody, even if he was now official.

"Better than Sheriff Woody," he muttered irritably. He had been pacing the room for the last five minutes, and it was starting to wear on her nerves.

"Can you please stop pacing like a caged animal?"

"Why should I?" he shot back. "I _am _a caged animal. I'm not here by my choice, Jordan. You know that as well as I do. I am not a cop anymore. I gave that up, and I don't want it back."

She studied him for a moment, and then she laughed. "Like hell you don't. You should have seen yourself out there, Woody. You were in your element. You're not a dairy farmer. You said so yourself."

He grunted, continuing to pace and refusing to look at her. Jordan wished Nigel was here. He would have something to say or do that would make this better, but the state team had refused, so he'd gone off to pout and consult with the others in Boston. They didn't even know that Woody was here yet. She hadn't called. She wasn't sure she wanted Nigel to, either. Next thing anyone knew, everyone would be on a plane, then driving each other nuts in the car, and finally, here. They cared about Woody as much as she did, and they would also worry about her.

She was fine. He was not.

"Come on, Woody, isn't this even the tiniest bit cool? You thought you'd never get to work in law enforcement again," she reminded him.

"And, as I told you, I didn't care. I don't want this, Jordan. I became a cop to somehow appease my father, and he never deserved a damn minute of it, okay? I'm not a cop," Woody practically spat.

"Hey, lovebirds," the coroner interrupted, "You two want to keep it down over there? How about a little respect for the dead?"

Jordan shrugged. "Yeah, sure. And while we're at it, why don't you show a little respect yourself? That is not a clean scalpel."

The coroner glared at her. So did Woody. "Do you _have _to piss off everyone in the universe, Jordan?"

"It's a gift," she said with a smile.

"All right," he agreed impatiently. "You and your gift can stay here and watch him get dismembered. Me and my bad temper are going for a little walk."

* * *

Nigel closed his phone quickly as he saw Woody stalk out of the doctor's office. He knew the state team couldn't be finished with their autopsy, but he had known that Woody wouldn't stay for the whole thing anyway. He never did, unless he was desperate to spend time with Jordan, but Nigel doubted that was the case here. Woody was still trying to avoid Jordan, and he had to be upset over the latest development.

"Woodrow!" Nigel called, jogging over to him. "I just got off the phone with Buggles. Get this, there was another overdose in Boston. Stomach contents contained heavy quantities of milk. This guy apparently swore by it, and he was determined to beat osteoporosis."

"That's nice, Nigel. But what I really want right now is to be left alone," Woody snapped.

"They could have made you sheriff," Nigel decided to try teasing. "Then you'd be Sheriff Woody."

"Enough," Woody warned, pointing a finger dangerously close to Nigel's eye. "I am not a cop, not a deputy, and I don't even go by Woody anymore. Do we have an understanding, Nigel, or am I going to be forced to—"

"No, I'm sure that won't be necessary," Nigel agreed hastily. "Look, I knew you for six years as Woodrow or Woody. It's just going to take some time to start calling you... Will, is it?"

"I don't know why I bother," Woody muttered. He stopped and looked around at the town. The people were milling about, trying _not _to look at them, but they were still watching all the same. He turned towards Nigel again. "Why here? Why the hell did you have to come here?"

Nigel shrugged. "Must be the small town ambiance."

Woody looked at him. "You are a lousy comedian, Nigel."

"And you're a bad liar," Nigel shot back. "You think you're fooling anyone? Really? You're angry, yes, but not for the reasons you keep saying. Like it or not, Woodrow, you're a cop. You think like a cop. You _dress _like a cop. You're still Woody, even if you want to call yourself Will. And whether you like it or not, you love Jordan so damn much you can't stand it. That's why you're angry. That's why you want to run. You thought you had it figured out, but you don't because you haven't found a way to live with her. You haven't accepted how much you need her. How much you need _us. _We're your friends, Woody. Your family. You may not have any ties by blood, but the ties you do have, you can't break."

Nigel almost regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He knew that Woody needed to hear them, but the expression on the other man's face darkened dangerously. Nigel feared he was looking at the same Woody who had gotten lost in rage and nearly killed his shooter.

"You think so, do you?" Woody asked coldly. He laughed. "Family and friends. Where the hell were you when I _really _needed you? You're not _my _friends. You're the friends that some stupid act of mine acquired. And she loves that same damn act. So don't tell me I need you. You don't _know _me."

He walked away then, and Nigel didn't stop him. Woody had a point. They didn't know this side of Woody. But they could learn, and they _wanted _to. They did. Every last one of them. Nigel opened his phone again and hit the speed dial.

"Buggles?" he asked as the other end was answered. "Make some reservations. You, Lily, Madeline, and Dr. M. On the next plane."


	5. You Can Run

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Five: You Can Run**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,225  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** I promised a brighter sequel to Lost Pretense. This qualifies, doesn't it?

* * *

**You Can Run**

"They say you shouldn't drink alone," Macy remarked, settling into the booth across from Woody.

Woody grunted and picked up his scotch. He should have known they'd all show up. They had to protect Jordan. Had to save her from herself—and from him. Woody was not someone they knew or trusted anymore, despite what Nigel said. He downed the shot and looked at the man across from him. "You did. For a long time. You going to lecture me now?"

"What good would it do, Woody?" Macy asked. He studied his water unhappily. Woody motioned for Gwen to come over with another scotch.

"Not a whole hell of a lot," Woody agreed. He studied Garret's face for a moment. "Why are you here? People have to be dying in Boston. How did you all manage to get away at once?"

"Family emergency," Macy answered, shifting in his seat. He pulled his jacket closer as he did. Same old trench coat. Seemed to be a fad around here all of a sudden.

"You want to feed me that line, too, Dr. M?" Woody laughed. "Don't bother. I've done the family thing once. It wasn't pleasant. I don't want another one."

"You think this is really helping, Woody? Look at yourself. You've lost weight, you're drinking heavily, and you're alone," Garret said. He shook his head. "You're better than this, Hoyt. You always have been."

"Am I?" Woody couldn't believe he was asking this, but it was probably the scotch talking. He shook his head, unable to look Macy in the eye. "I doubt that, Dr. M. It's not just what happened to me when I was younger, though that does take away your self-worth. It's... Don't say I am a better man. I'm not. At best, I'm a shell. At worst..."

He shrugged and started in on the new scotch. Macy took a sip of his water and grimaced. Woody laughed. "Maybe you should try the milk."

"From what I hear, that's worse than the alcohol around here," Macy disagreed. He pushed the water aside and motioned to Gwen, who came over and took his order for coffee. "What are you doing here, Woody?"

Woody smiled a little. "The road to self-discovery takes you many strange places. This is only one of them. People thought I was a dairy farmer. I wasn't. But I could have been, so I decided to try it for a while."

Macy nodded. "How's that going?"

Woody reached into his pocket and took out the badge, tossing it on the table. "Once a cop, always a cop, apparently."

"That really such a bad thing? You were good at what you did."

"No," Woody corrected, shaking his head. "You, Jordan, Nigel, Bug, _you're _good at what you do. I was just along for the ride."

"You underestimate yourself, Woody. I think you always have," Macy observed. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced again. Woody tipped a bit of the scotch into it. "You're a master at interrogation, you know that? You could completely fool them with your appearance and then turn their assumptions against them. It was amazing to watch."

Woody shook the ice in his scotch. "Yeah, well, those days are gone. And I don't know why all of you want them back."

"Who said we did?" Macy demanded. "None of us have ever said that. Maybe all we want is—"

"Me in your life?" Woody finished. "Better watch it, Doc. You're starting to sound like Nigel."

"Woody—"

"The pep talk's been fun, Doc, but I've had enough," Woody got to his feet and stumbled a bit. "Yep, definitely had enough."

* * *

"So, I take it the pep talk didn't go so well," Jordan said as Garret entered the room. Bug, Lily, and Madeline had the honeymoon suite at the bed and breakfast, and its front parlor had quickly become their meeting room. Lily was in the other room, trying to calm a fussy Madeline, and Bug kept glancing at the door, but he hadn't gotten up yet. Jordan bet it would happen in the next five minutes.

"Very astute, Jordan," Garret muttered irritably, tossing his coat on the chair.

"I did warn you that Woodrow was less than receptive to overtures of friendship," Nigel said, not looking up from his computer.

"He still resists everything he was in Boston," Lily said over Madeline's screams. She handed the baby to Bug, who started to sing to her as he carried her into the other room. Jordan hoped Bug's voice would do the trick, or it would be a very long night for all of them. "He doesn't want to accept that it's a part of him, too."

"I still say you should have talked to him, Lil," Jordan told her, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

"I will, Jordan. I want to," Lily assured her. She looked at the other room nervously. Madeline was still screaming. "I didn't realize how much traveling would affect Madeline. She's really upset, and I'm her mother. I can't ignore that, no matter how much I want to help Woody."

"I know, Lily," Jordan agreed softly. She wished Lily could, though. The grief counselor had gotten through to Woody before. He'd gone to her for help. It was a show of faith, one he didn't have in anyone else.

Garret cleared his throat. "Let's focus on the murder for a minute. I get the sense part of Woody's problem is his recent appointment. Matters may let him out of it after the case is closed. Or Woody might run. Either way, we should solve this and do it fast."

Jordan nodded. She decided to recite what she knew, get everyone up to speed. "Our victim was Terrance Morehead. He was thirty-five, a migrant worker. Five-eleven, hundred eighty-six pounds. Strong man, could reportedly pick up cows without help. Morehead was dead for three days before he was found. People assumed he had moved on. Cause of death was repeated stab wounds. He had defensive wounds on his arms, so he did fight back. He was unsuccessful, mostly likely because he had recently eaten and had a very large glass of milk with that meal, the milk laced with our favorite designer drug. The dose he got would have been fatal in another man."

"So maybe someone wanted our boy Morehead to die of an 'accidental' overdose, but he didn't cooperate," Nigel suggested.

"The body was left where it was for three days, right?" Garret asked. "Why?"

She shook her head. "Woody asked the same thing. The killer would have had time to move it, and he should have if he wanted everyone to believe that Morehead had simply drifted on."

"Maybe they didn't," Nigel said. He set his computer to the side and stood, starting to pace. "The first overdose here was a migrant worker, but that one was an addict. He could have gotten greedy. The second was an old man with a habit of drinking a glass of milk a day. His death could have been accidental. But the third death was clearly murder. But why..."

"Why?" Jordan prompted, knowing Nigel was going somewhere with this.

"I think it's quite simple, love," Nigel said sadly. "We have a victim that Woody knew. Another worker, a strong man. Seemingly untouchable, right? I don't think Morehead was involved in this drug ring, or that he knew too much and it got him killed. I think the body was left there so that someone _would _find it. It was intended as a warning. Someone wants Woody to back off this thing."

"But he's barely involved," Jordan protested. "And he doesn't _want _to be, either."

"That's what he says, love," Nigel agreed. "But what they're seeing is different. He's here, a possible infiltrator, and then we show up. He didn't know we were coming, but they won't believe that. We're investigating the deaths, and they figure he must have been all along. And the sheriff did deputize him."

"Even so," Garret said, "You two have only been here for two days. Morehead has been dead for three."

"Woody had already revealed that he knew too much about being a cop," Nigel reminded them. "He found Clyde. And he acted like a cop. Matters wanted to deputize him then. They've probably been watching him ever since. And you don't have to know Woody to know that he knows more than he's telling about these deaths."

"Damn it," Jordan muttered. "I think you're right."

* * *

"You need more coffee, Drifter?" Wendy asked, hovering over his side. She was giving better service than usual, and that bothered him. He knew they all thought he'd brought the morgue gang here, and in a way it was his fault they were here, but he hadn't asked them to come. Now everyone in town was paying closer attention to him than before. It had little to do with the badge, and everything to do with his uninvited guests.

"Yes, thank you, Wendy," he said, taking another cup of the black pitch in a vain hope that it would help his hangover.

"So, them friends of yours, Drifter," Wendy began, "They gonna solve Terry's murder?"

"If anyone can do it, they can," he told her. He saw no reason to lie. The town knew Jordan and Nigel were from the ME's office. It wasn't hard to guess about the others.

Wendy nodded. "I'm grateful to you, Drifter. Bringing them here. Murder. I just never thought it would happen here. It's too nice of a place."

He looked at her for a moment. She seemed sincere, but then they all had a habit of that. That was the trouble with Haven. It was hard to tell where the real bad eggs were, or if there were any good ones at all. She looked around for a second. "You think it was one of them delinquents? Maybe they got angry again, hurt him? They've done bad things before."

Whether she had intended to or not, she'd just given him an idea. He hadn't looked into Haven House, but it was past time. Then again, maybe it would be better if Lily asked the questions around there. They would see him as a deputy, but her as a woman genuinely interested in a charitable work.

"I'm sure Sheriff Matters has looked into the kids at the house," Woody said. "He wants to make sure you're all safe."

Wendy snorted. "Matters hasn't had a real crime to deal with in twenty years as sheriff. You've been around, Drifter. Them friends of yours are from Boston, right? Lots of crime there. You think Sheriff Matters can handle this?"

He didn't actually think it was a matter of whether or not Matters _could _handle it. It was a matter of whether or not he _would_. Woody had know way of knowing for sure if Matters was involved in this or not. For that matter, Wendy could be, too. He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he doesn't have to. If I know Jordan Cavanaugh at all, she'll solve it for him."

Wendy smiled at him. "That your girl, Drifter?"

"She'd like to be," he answered. He reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He found enough cash for the coffee and a tip, putting them on the table. "I'll see you later, Wendy."

Wendy called a goodbye out to him as he left, and he waved half-heartedly. He didn't know what to make of her behavior this morning. Was she acting as a decoy for the people behind the drugs and murder? Or was she truly just a concerned citizen?

He crossed the street, entering the bed and breakfast, and heading up the stairs. Bug and Lily had the honeymoon suite. It made sense. He wasn't even halfway down the hallway when he heard the baby screaming. He was probably coming at a bad time, but he'd just tell Lily she should go over to Haven House and leave.

He knocked on the door. A bleary-eyed Lily opened it, holding her baby and trying to soothe her. Bug was also trying to help, singing and showing the baby a toy. The little girl smacked it out of his hand. Woody looked at them. "Rough night?"

"Madeline doesn't like to travel, apparently," Lily answered. "Good morning, Woody."

"What's good about it?" Bug grumbled, picking up the toy.

Woody studied them for a moment. "I'll make you a deal. I'll take that squalling midget off your hands for a couple of hours, you can get some sleep, and then you'll go over to Haven House for me. You're just interested in the charity work."

Lily nodded. "Anything, Woody. Really."

She handed him the baby and a diaper bag. Woody shifted the child in his arms, offering it a bottle that it had just refused from its father. To everyone's surprise, Madeline quieted, sucking happily on the bottle.

"Show off," Bug muttered as he left the room.

"Thank you," Lily said, relief in her voice. She kissed Woody's cheek and followed Bug into the other room.

Woody looked down at the baby in his arms. It had been a long time since he'd dealt with one of these. "Okay, Midget. You like cows?"


	6. Past Assumptions, Present Fears

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Six: Past Assumptions, Present Fears**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,432  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note:** Short and not so sweet this time. I doubt this was the Lily/Woody scene anyone was expecting. But I get weird at this time of night with so little sleep...

* * *

**Past Assumptions, Present Fears**

"Looks like you have something there that doesn't belong to you," Jordan observed. She'd told herself to walk away, to wait and let Lily talk to Woody before she tried again, but she couldn't. Not this time. Not when she found him sitting on a bench in the small field that served as both town park and school playground, holding Madeline, who was completely silent.

"Shh," he said, raising a finger to his lips in that timeless gesture. "Don't wake the midget."

"Okay," Jordan agreed slowly, sitting down next to him. He looked at her but made no attempt to move. She smiled to herself. This was good. It was working out very well, in fact. She had him cornered, and with Madeline in his arms, he couldn't run. "She has a name, you know."

"Yeah, but to me, she's a midget," he insisted. She couldn't help a smile. He had not only taken a fussy Madeline off her parents' hands, he had given her a nickname. Somehow, this gave Jordan hope she hadn't had a few hours ago. "She likes cows, too."

"Cows, huh?" Jordan asked, leaning over to look at Madeline's face. Amazing how peaceful she was compared to last night. And Woody wasn't even feeding her. Jordan didn't see a bottle anywhere, though it was probably in the diaper bag under the bench. "She doesn't look like much of a cowgirl to me."

"Looks are deceiving," he told her.

"Not all the time," Jordan disagreed. She pointed to him and Madeline. "I've always thought you'd be good with kids. That you'd be a good father."

He snorted, then looked down at Madeline, afraid he'd woken the baby. When no screaming or crying happened, he relaxed again, leaning back against the bench. Jordan reached across him to run her fingers through Maddie's hair. She looked up at him and their lips met. This wasn't one for the road. It wasn't an angry kiss in a bar. This was...

It was a new beginning.

She really wanted it to be a new beginning. She wanted to start over, wanted to be whole again. She had made it through a year without seeing his face or hearing his voice, and she didn't want to do it again. He was here, he was alive, and he was within her reach.

He pulled away. "Jordan—"

"Don't say it, Woody," she begged. She didn't care that she was begging. "I know what you're going to say, and you're wrong. About me, about you, and about us. You think you've changed too much. That I haven't changed. But I have. And you haven't. I know about running."

"You're the expert," he agreed softly. "You plan to tell me that I'm not helping anything? That I won't solve my problems by refusing to face them?"

"Something like that," she agreed. She leaned against him, careful not to disturb the baby. "Woody, maybe this was... I don't know... Meant to happen?"

He nudged her back into a sitting position. "Meant to happen?"

"Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence that you happened to move here, that a case that happened to have ties here came up in Boston, and now I'm here? I found you when I swore I wouldn't go looking for you," she said, looking up into his eyes. They seemed brighter than usual, twin orbs so intense she felt burned.

"You mean, fate?" He asked, stretching as much as he could with Maddie in his arms. He looked down at the baby and back at Jordan. "I hope not. If there's a great cosmic destiny, then I got screwed. Literally and metaphorically."

She laughed. She shouldn't have, because it wasn't really funny.

"Woody," she began, but she changed her mind. "Maybe it's time to change fate. Sure, you're stuck with me, but why not make the best of it?"

He sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

"Let's start with a walk," she suggested. "And see where it takes us."

* * *

"Take her," Woody said, startling Lily and Bug in the middle of their late breakfast. They'd finally gotten some sleep, and she felt so much better for it. She had _not _expected Woody to show up so suddenly, or to shove Madeline at them. The weirdest part was that the baby wasn't even screaming. She was calm, happy, even, and Bug took her gratefully.

"Woody?" Lily asked, standing up.

"I mean it, Lily. Take the baby back to Boston. Leave, now. Forget about Haven House, about whatever Jordan thinks she needs you for in this case, just go," Woody said. He turned to leave, and Lily rushed after him, Bug calling after her to stop.

"Wait a minute," she called, catching up to him at the door. "What are you doing? Why are you—?"

Woody shook his head. "You have to do this, Lily. You have to go. All of you. Haven isn't safe. Not for any of us, but especially not for the baby."

"We're not here because of the case, Woody," Lily insisted. "We're here because of you. A year ago, we let you go. It was the right thing to do. You needed the time. But now it's not the right thing to do."

He looked at her coldly. "You want to risk your child's life for me, Lily? Is that what you really want? It might not be her, it might be Bug or you or Nigel..."

"Or Jordan," Lily finished. "That's what you're really afraid of, isn't it? Something happening to Jordan? You want her safe and protected. You always have. Don't you understand that the best way to do that is to stay with her? To fight beside her?"

Woody laughed, crossing his arms over his stomach. "Now is not the time for this speech, Lily."

"And when is, Woody? Is there even going to be a next time?" she demanded. "You can't run forever. You can't avoid what happened forever, either. I'm not saying you aren't aware of what happened, or that you don't acknowledge it, that you haven't learned to live with it. It's the rest of your life you have been avoiding. You are more than this shell you've become. You're a caring, compassionate man, A good friend and a good cop. You're a brother. You've been a lover. You could be a husband and a father, and that's what you're denying yourself. You're afraid of those things, afraid of becoming like—"

"Don't say it, Lily," Woody warned darkly. "Don't you _ever _say I'm afraid of becoming my father. Because that is the one thing I know without a doubt I'll never be. I might have followed him into law enforcement, or maybe I did it in spite of him, but I _am nothing like him." _

Lily stood her ground. "Then why are you still running from Jordan? From commitment and love?"

He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. He seemed to be in pain, and she couldn't help but be concerned. "This isn't about running, not anymore. I don't know when this damn thing became personal, but it has. Every one of you is in danger because of me. Because I came here ,and I somehow stirred up some damn hornet's nest, and it's going to get us all killed."

She studied him for a moment. "What is it, Woody? What is going on here?"

"You mean, why am I so scared?" he laughed a little, "I thought you had the answer to that. I'm afraid of commitment, of becoming my father, of something happening to Jordan, right? That's what you've just been telling me."

"Woody, please."

He smiled grimly. "Against my better judgment, I agreed to Jordan's idea. I never should. I know better. But I agreed to a picnic. She went back for the food. And I've got a baby. You'd think that would give some sort of pause... It's just bad manners or something... A baby. How could they even run the risk? I bet they claim it was a hunting accident."

"A hunting accident?" Lily asked, filled with a sudden fear. He stumbled, and she rushed to catch him as he fell, a terrible red stain covering his white shirt. She covered the wound instinctively, calling to Bug, to anyone.

She wasn't sure they would be there in time.


	7. Best Laid Plans

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Seven: Best Laid Plans**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,022  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **I had hoped to get to this sooner, but it didn't want to cooperate. It still doesn't feel quite right, but...

* * *

**Best Laid Plans**

"Are you kidding? Who would fall for that anyway?" Nigel demanded, looking down at the extremely pale form of one Woodrow Wilson Hoyt, his breathing coming in shallow, uneven rasps thanks to the bandaged but brutal wound in his side that had come close to puncturing his lung.

"Nigel, it may be Woody's only chance," Jordan said softly, not looking up from the hand she held clasped in hers.

He shook his head. "Woody wouldn't want us to do this."

"He might not like us lying for him," Lily agreed, "but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't. Jordan is right. It may be the only way to save his life."

"So, what? We say he's dead, we pack up his _body, _and we leave?" Nigel demanded. "This town—"

"Isn't going to get away with it," Dr. Macy interrupted. "That's not what we're talking about here. Whether we like or not, whether he likes it or not, he's out of this one. Nigel, you were the one that suggested that Morehead was murdered as a warning to Woody. He's the target now, and we have to get him out of here."

"Unless," Bug began slowly. They turned towards him. He looked down at Maddie, avoiding the scrutiny. "Unless we use him as bait."

"Bug!" Lily cried, shocked.

Bug shrugged. "He'd be the first to suggest it."

"Just because Woody has a misguided death wish doesn't mean we should indulge him," Macy said, looking at the injured man for a moment before he continued on. "The fact is, Woody's in no shape to act as bait. He should be in a hospital."

"And what good would that do?" Nigel asked. "Even if we told them he was already dead, they'd watch the nearest hospitals. They're not stupid. They might all be in on it, but that doesn't make their little scheme any less sophisticated."

"Woody wanted me to look into Haven House," Lily said softly. "I was going to, as soon as we got some sleep, but then he came back and he was..."

"Haven House is a good place to start," Macy agreed. "But that doesn't solve our problem."

"I have a suggestion," Jordan's voice was heartbreaking in its soft, timid tones. "We do both. We tell them he died, and Lily and Bug can pretend to take the body. They will leave, with Maddie, and they'll go back to Boston. And you, Garret, because you're going to lead your followers on a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, Nigel and I stay here, finish the case."

"What?" Nigel demanded. "Jordan, I know you—"

"I can't do it alone, and we have to take turns keeping an eye on Woody," she explained. "He's actually safest right where he is. He shouldn't be moved, and we all know that. But if we tell them he's dead, if we make them think that we have mostly left, and if they think that even if he isn't dead, that he isn't here, then we keep him safe."

"Jordan, think about this," Macy began, touching her arm. "These people have killed before. At least three times. And they're not shy about it."

"I know. But they won't expect us to walk away from this, and I can't. I won't."

* * *

_He'd been in Haven for three weeks when disaster struck. He barely remembers it now, and it should have made more of an impact, but as with many things that dealt with his past, he pushed it out of his mind. He refused to be that person anymore, to be that victim._

"_Hoyt," Clyde muttered, drunk and high as always, "Seems to me I know that name."_

"_Really?" he shrugged. "It's not that uncommon, I suppose."_

"_Nah, I knew a kid. Name was... Some dumb president's name..."_

_He tensed in fear, dreading what he knew was coming. This was one of Cal's former drug buddies, was it? He should have known better... The further away you are, the closer you are to all you're running from. It was a vicious cycle, and Jordan had proved that enough. _

"_Calvin. Yeah, that was his name," Clyde went on. "Calvin Coolidge. Weird folks he had. Brother's name was... Woodrow."_

"_Sounds like they both need therapy," Woody muttered. "You got a point, Clyde?"_

"_Trying to remember... Something about that boy Hoyt... or was it his brother..." Clyde mumbled. He stumbled off his barstool and headed to the men's room._

_Woody paid for his beer and left. He never did find out what Clyde knew, what he had meant, but now he had a bad feeling about it. Clyde had told someone that night, someone other than Woody. And what ever that was..._

_It wasn't good._

* * *

"Heard you had a hunting accident."

A grunt, followed by a shrug. "Aim's too good for my own damn good."

"And if he makes it?"

"He won't." Said with confidence, more than likely misplaced.

"Might."

"Already heard talk that he was gone," boasted the hunter. "Seen them packing up that van. The old man, the girl with the baby, and that dark fellow, they're going."

That was good. Maybe. "Not the other one? The dark haired one?"

"Not yet."

"She's the more dangerous one."

"She has no idea what's going on here."

"You think you can keep it that way?" The demand was harsh, the laughter bitter. "Because I don't."

"Ain't my fault Hank got into a batch he shouldn't have, and you know it," the other protested angrily. "You told me to take care of Clyde, and I did. Same with Morehead. Just as you said."

"I didn't tell you to have a hunting accident."

"Doesn't matter, does it? It got the job done."

"Not yet it didn't. The girl's still alive. So are the rest of them." A deep sigh. "But don't have any more accidents. Not yet."

"Then when?"

"When we're almost done, you idiot. We have too much to do to bring Boston's police force down on us looking for dead medical examiner's. Just wait, and do what I tell you. You understand?"

"Yeah."

"Leave the girl to me. I'll take care of her myself."


	8. House is Not a Home

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Eight: The House is Not a Home**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 1,441  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **Would it be evil of me to say that this chapter is a bit of a calm before the storm? It is? Oh, well, I said it anyway.

* * *

**The House in Not a Home**

Jordan studied the large farmhouse for a moment. Haven House. It was supposed to be a charity, a place of good works. She shuddered. She didn't think it was. Neither had Woody, and she trusted Woody's instincts. She just wished _he'd _listened to them and gotten the hell out of Haven before he got shot.

If wishes were horses, right?

She knocked on the door. There wasn't a bell, which was weird, but then, a lot of places in Haven didn't seem to have bells. And it all closed down at night, safe and secure, a false sense of Norman Rockwell and Americana, too good to be true.

The door opened, a middle aged woman behind it, wiping her hands on an apron. "Oh, hello. You must be Dr. Cavanaugh. I'm Ruthie Myers. You know, I'm so sorry about what happened to Will. He was such a polite young man. Not like these hellions I've got here. Come in, come in."

Jordan smiled and accepted her invitation. She was half-Stepford-wife, half-old biddy, despite her youthful appearance. She led Jordan back past the stairs and front rooms into the kitchen. "I'm in the middle of supper right now. I hope you don't mind the mess."

"Oh, no, that's fine," Jordan assured her. "I was hoping to ask you about Haven House."

"Oh, I just knew that when that man got murdered they'd come looking at the kids," Ruthie muttered. "I call 'em hellions, but they're not that bad. Not killers, not at all. And there's a few of them who really want to make it, you know? They're the ones I like most. Like Cecilia here."

She pointed to a young girl, maybe fourteen, who was washing dishes, and having a hard time of it over her large belly. She smiled briefly and went back to the dishes. "Cecilia had a no-good boyfriend, but she'll get her life back on track once the baby's born. Poor thing. Her parents kicked her out, and she had no where to go. But she heard of us, and she came calling. We took her in right away."

Jordan wondered how the girl felt about Ruthie telling a perfect stranger all of this. She smiled, though, leaning over the oven to smell what was in the big pot. "Stew. Smells good."

"One thing the kids never complain about is the food," Ruthie agreed. "Anna and Eddie help me cook it, and Cecilia helps serve. The others are out working the farms. Keeps 'em busy and out of trouble."

"This sure seems like a nice place," Jordan agreed. "I wish they'd had something like this in Wisconsin. Maybe then Cal could have turned his life around."

"Cal?" Ruthie asked, dropping her spoon. She grumbled under breath. "I'm so clumsy these days. I half think I'm losing my mind. Early on-set Alzheimer's or something."

Yeah, right, Jordan thought. This woman knew something about Cal—Maybe not Woody's brother Cal, though it was a strange coincidence—a Cal, anyway. Something bad enough to startle her into dropping the spoon. This was worth pursuing. "Cal, a friend of ours. He had a drug problem."

"That's so sad, dearie," Ruthie went on, getting a clean spoon. "Did he get help?"

"He overdosed last year. It almost killed him," Jordan said. "We hope he's clean, but we don't know."

"That's the worst, isn't it?" Ruthie turned to Cecilia "Why don't you go get cleaned up for dinner, sweetie? It's about ready, and I don't want you in those wet things any longer than you have to be."

"Okay," Cecilia agreed, taking off her apron and leaving the room. Jordan waited for her heavy pounding on the stairs.

"The kids who come here, what have they done? You said they're not killers, but are they drug users? Sellers?" she pressed, enjoying the discomfort on Ruthie's too-pleasant face.

"They've done that. They can't help it, where they come from. Farm work is different, though."

"What about Clyde? He died of an overdose," Jordan reminded her.

"Clyde wasn't one of us—one of the kids here. He was some drifter," Ruthie insisted. "He was probably always an addict."

"You said he wasn't one of _us._ One of the town, not from Haven? How many people who pass through here actually stay here? Do you chase them off, or do they just leave?"

"Excuse me?" Ruthie demanded. "I don't know who you think you are, young Miss, but—"

"I'll tell you who I am," Jordan began angrily. "I'm a woman who just lost the man she loves to a town full of hypocritical criminals. I'm the medical examiner who is going to bring you all down. And you can tell your boss that, because you didn't fool me for a second with the sweet mother act, Ruth. Those kids aren't working a farm, at least not one with animals. They're working a drug farm, aren't they? And you put it in milk for transport? Or are you really trying to kill everyone who drinks milk?"

Ruth glared at her. "I understand that you're grieving, but I won't have your accusations here. This is a place of peace, a place where kids get hope. You can leave. Now."

"Oh, I know my way out," Jordan said, stalking out the door.

* * *

"You see, love, this is why I told you we shouldn't do this. You went off by yourself, you lost your temper, and now we can't investigate Haven House because you ran your pretty mouth off," Nigel said, half-fuming as Jordan came back to the hotel room.

"I know, I know," she said. "I just got so sick of her little sweet old lady routine. I couldn't help it."

Nigel sighed. He knew Jordan was upset. That was why he hadn't wanted her to go alone. But she had. She had gone, and she had made their bad situation worse. "Call Walcott, Jordan. Get her to send someone down here. Someone with a badge and a gun, and someone who can actually keep their mouth shut."

"She'll send Seely. I bet you ten bucks she sends Seely, if she sends anyone," Jordan muttered. She picked up her phone and went into the other room to make the call.

Nigel looked down at Woody's still form. He was still unconscious, and Nigel couldn't help thinking that they needed him more than ever. Jordan was off the deep end, this town was completely psychotic, and hell... Hadn't the past year been hard enough? He shook his head, resisting the urge to shake the wounded man. Woody needed to heal. That was the only way he would be any good to them.

Jordan came back in the room. "You owe me ten bucks."

"So, Seely, eh? That will make Buggles happy," Nigel observed. Jordan sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Come on, love. It's for the best. We can keep this charade up for one, maybe two days, if that."

"I know. Speaking of the charade, go out and... make yourself seen? Get us dinner or something," she said. "I'll stay with Woody for a while."

Nigel agreed, leaving the inn and crossing the street to the diner. The loud hubbub of the room stopped upon his arrival, and he detected a distinct chill in the air. He ignored it and made his way to the counter, picking up a menu and waiting for the waitress. Wendy approached him with a polite smile.

He smiled back at her. "I am in terrible, absolutely dire need of some food to go, my dear. I want that marvelous American staple of a country fried steak and mashed potatoes, and have you any soup? I would simply love some soup."

She smiled at him, this time genuinely, and he suspected in spite of herself. The old British charm. It never failed. She finished writing the ticket and called the order out to the kitchen. Then she went to the register and rang it up, coming back with his bill. He tipped her generously and was rewarded with another smile when she came back with his food.

He thanked her and headed back to the room. He found Jordan in the bed with Woody, curled up next to him. He closed the door on them. The soup could wait.

For them. He, on the other hand, was starving.

* * *

"She knows."

"I told you to leave her to me."

"You haven't done anything yet, and now she knows."

"Be patient. She still can't prove anything."

"You have a day. Otherwise, I'll arrange another accident."


	9. Acts of Desperation and Deception

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Nine: Acts of Desperation and Deception**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think)  
**Word Count:** 2,500  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **So I have concluded that my stomach just plain hates me, and there's not much I can do about that, since it seems to rebel at every opportunity. So yeah, it took a while to get this done as I haven't really been able to sleep or focus thanks to my very not kind stomach. Oh, and I think I may have overestimated my ability to bright and happy. This is brighter and happier than Lost Pretense, but that's about as good as it gets. :P

* * *

**Acts of Desperation and Deception**

Matt Seely got out of the car and took off his sunglasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It had been one long drive from the airport, and to what? This backwater sinkhole? He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He could actually smell the cows. And he didn't like the smell of cows.

"Well, Hoyt, you certainly know how to pick them," Seely muttered under his breath. He shut the door on his rental and went around to the trunk. It was a good thing he could expense all of this. He didn't want to have to pay for driving around this piece of crap. Walcott had said Cavanaugh would take care of getting him a room, and he didn't really doubt it. This place didn't get much traffic, if any, and with the rest of the morgue staff back in Boston or otherwise occupied, there should be open rooms.

Seely grabbed his bag from the trunk and headed inside. The clerk smiled at him, said they were expecting him, and gave him a key without him saying a word. That was the trouble with small towns. Everyone knew everyone else's business.

He went up the stairs, found his room, dropped the bag inside, and studied the room. It wasn't terrible, though he could have done without the rose covered sheets. And the lace. He definitely did not need lace. He wondered if Cavanaugh had gotten him this room on purpose.

He left his room and went down the hall to the corner suite that Lily had told him was their base of operations in Haven. He rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door. He waited for a moment, hearing the lock gears turn as it opened, and then Nigel was there, ushering him inside.

"Back here," Nigel told him, leading him into the bedroom. Cavanaugh was there, sitting in a chair next to the bed, dressed like she was ready to go out into the slight autumn chill again. She probably thought she'd be helping Seely with this case. Great.

Seely looked down at the bed. "Long time no see, buddy."

Hoyt didn't even stir. He was still out of it. His whole side was bandaged, and under the top layer was one stained with blood.

"How did this happen?" Seely demanded. "How the hell did he get mixed up in all of this?"

"I don't know," Cavanaugh said. "But if you really want to know, then let's go investigate. You are a detective, aren't you, Seely?"

"From what I hear, Cavanaugh, you've already ruined my case for me. Between Hoyt getting shot, you running your mouth off, and the fact that this whole town is in on it, we're pretty much screwed, don't you think?" Seely couldn't help asking.

"Look, Seely, I'm not the one who wanted you here," she said. "But I'm stuck with you, so I'm going to make the best of it. You'd better start by seeing Sheriff Matters. I'll come with you. He seems to like me, even if it's only just to look at."

Seely shrugged. He knew he wasn't going to get away from her. At least this way, she might be somewhat helpful. Cavanaugh was a curse, and he'd been glad when he heard that she was out of Boston. He had been looking forward to cases without her interference. It seemed like she had been on almost all of his cases since Hoyt left. Without Hoyt to request Cavanaugh on his cases, Seely was the one who ended up with her, nine times out of ten. And now he'd been dragged into this one. It figured. She was some sort of curse.

"Let's go, Cavanaugh," he said finally. "May as well get it over with."

* * *

Nigel watched Jordan cross the street with Seely, wondering how much trouble the two of them would get into this time. He hadn't liked it when she left yesterday, and he had the same bad feeling about today. She couldn't stay out of trouble if she tried, and she didn't really try. It wasn't like he thought that having Seely with her would help. Seely was not the most tactful man on the planet, and pairing him up with Jordan was asking for trouble.

Crossing the room, Nigel picked up his laptop and shut it down. Even with the wireless connection card, he wasn't getting much use out of his laptop out here. He barely had service on his cell phone. He stopped and looked at the bed. "Damn. We need you out there, Woodrow."

If Woody heard him at all, he showed no sign of it. Nigel sighed. Jordan was with Seely, and Woody was still unconscious, but they'd managed to get him to eat some of the soup last night. It would be a good idea to get some more down him, some juice maybe or broth if he could get a hold of it.

That Wendy in the diner had taken quite a shine to him. He could do this. He grabbed his coat and bundled up, wrapping his scarf around his neck and readying his mittens. He went into the bathroom and found the small bag with Jordan's make-up. She wasn't bothering with it, but she should have what he needed. Yep, right there. Blush. Nigel added a flourish to his nose.

Oh, he looked like a man with a miserable cold, alright. Not only would this get him the sympathy he needed to acquire broth and juice, but it would explain why he was spending the rest of his day in the hotel room. Jordan wouldn't like him leaving Woody on his own, but he'd be gone for five minutes, tops, and just across the street. For that matter, so was she, and she was with Seely. Woody would be fine.

Nigel pulled on his mittens and locked the door behind him. He huddled against the cold, making it seem much worse than it was as he crossed over to the diner. He entered and stood shivering for a moment before Wendy rushed over to him, helping him sit. She filled him a cup of coffee before he could ask for anything.

"I'm afraid I've caught a dreadful cold," he muttered, warming his hands on the coffee.

"Well, then you'll need my special chicken noodle," she told him. "Just a second, honey."

"Have you got any juice?" Nigel said. "Or tea. Perhaps that would be best. Me mum always swore by tea, and it would be nice to have a bit of home, sick as I am."

"You're a big baby, that's what you are," Wendy chided, but she filled up a paper cup with juice and doubled up two glasses to put hot water in them, putting them both in a drink container, and giving it to him. She set the container of soup in the middle of the tray and smiled. "Now, you get yourself into bed and get plenty of rest. You'll need it."

Nigel nodded, gathering his spoils and heading for the door. He didn't want to leave Woody alone any longer than he had to, and if he really was as sick as he claimed, he'd give anything to be in his warm bed. He leaned over the warm goods he carried as he crossed the street again, and then he headed up the stairs to the room. He set the tray on the table at the end of the hall and dug out his key.

He pushed open the door and picked up the tray again, carrying it into the bedroom. "All right, Woodrow. I have secured for you a repast unlike any other..."

Nigel's voice failed him as he looked at the bed. It wasn't that he'd expected Woody to answer him, but he'd sure as hell expected him to still be there.

And he wasn't.

* * *

She had half-expected a pissing contest. She was once again surprised by the welcome shown by Sheriff Matters. He had smiled at seeing her, invited them into his office, and shook Seely's hand like an old friend. He couldn't be more pleased to see either of them. After Jordan's little outburst yesterday, it was rather unbelievable. She knew that "Ruthie" would have come to the sheriff to complain, innocent or not. It was all a part of this sickening facade.

"So, you're from Boston, too, huh?" Matters asked as he sat down. Jordan looked at the chair across from him, and Seely pushed her into it. Sure, now he acted all noble.

"I'm with the Boston police department," Seely agreed. "D.A. Walcott sent me out here to assist in the investigation."

"Now, I'm not as fancied up as you, and I don't have a degree or anything, but isn't there a problem with jurisdiction?" Matters was still smiling, but Jordan heard an edge to his voice. She fidgeted in her chair, and Seely gave her a dirty look.

"The case has ties to Boston. We've had four deaths there, and Hoyt was one of ours," Seely explained. "Why don't we start with what you know about the victims? The first one was a migrant worker?"

"Yeah. Clyde... Sommers. He was working up by the Andrews farm. Good enough hand, but an addict. He'd been through our program here, but it didn't straighten him out, not enough."

"You mean Haven House?" Seely asked, taking out a small notebook and scribbling notes.

"Yeah, he went through it, cleaned up a bit, learned enough to make him useful during the season, but he never did get it all together. Ask Ruth over there if she's got his records," Matters suggested. He smiled at Jordan. She swallowed hard and ignored the bait. Seely could ask. Or Nigel. She wasn't going back to Haven House. It wouldn't solve anything. It would just make it worse.

"And this Hank person?" Seely went on, looking up from his notes.

"Old Hank? That was a heart attack. Plain and simple," Matters insisted. "Dr. Cavanaugh knows as much as I do about Morehead. She examined the body with Deputy Hoyt."

Seely looked over at Jordan. She shrugged.

"I'm telling you, this is out of my league," Matters said, shaking his head. "First Clyde, then Terrence, and now Drifter... This is too much for me. I'm more than happy to have professionals on my side. Damn shame about Drifter, though. He knew what he was doing."

Jordan studied him. Somehow, she didn't believe him. She didn't know why. She had actually liked Matters when she first got to town, but now she distrusted him. She had thought that Matters was one of the good guys, but Seely didn't seem to think so, either. She could tell by the way that he was standing, even though he was surprisingly quiet about it.

"Yes, he did," Jordan agreed. "He was one of the best."

Seely coughed. "Look, we don't have much time here, people. Cavanaugh, you get those autopsy reports, and meet me at the diner. I'm starving."

Jordan rolled her eyes. She watched Seely go, and Matters touched her shoulder. "We'll find the ones responsible for this, I promise."

She looked at him. "Are you one of them?"

* * *

Woody stopped, leaning against the wall as he tried to control the pain and nausea that washed over him. He knew better than to move, but he wouldn't say he had much choice in the matter. He had a limited time to escape from Nigel and Jordan's watchful eyes, and he had to make use of it. He couldn't do anything stuck in that damned bed.

He couldn't do much outside of it, either, he mused bitterly as he pushed away from the wall, forcing himself across the room to where his stuff had been dumped after they moved it here from the boarding room. He sat down and rummaged through the bag, taking out a dark sweater and clean pants. He should probably take the jeans, but they would irritate his bandages, and he couldn't deal with more pain than he was already in at the moment.

He put on his socks and a pair of tennis shoes, pulled the spare trench coat—the black one—out of his bag and around his shoulders. His body screamed in protest, but he ignored it as he reached into the duffel again and found his gun and the two clips he carried for it. He slid one clip into the gun and put the safety on before sticking it in his pocket. He'd never get it out of his waistband with his limited mobility.

He took out the bottle of painkillers he'd gotten a few towns ago and swallowed four of them, sticking the bottle in his other pocket. He couldn't think of anything else he would need, and that was good because he knew that Nigel would be back soon.

He opened the door and looked out. Good, no one was around. He could hear the clerk tapping her pencil against the desk down in the lobby. She was concentrating on a crossword puzzle about this time of the day, bored out of her skull, but he knew he could get past her because she was also wearing headphones. It was funny how knowing a town's habits came in handy.

He went down the stairs as fast as his spinning head and sore body would let him, ducking into the lobby's leather chair that faced away from the stairs and the front desk. He checked on the clerk. Now she was filing her nails and hadn't seen a thing. He pulled his legs into the chair, out of sight, as Nigel burst back in, grunting around his food.

Damn. That smelled good. But Woody didn't have time for that right now. He heard Nigel go up the stairs and went to the back door. The kitchen was full of activity, which was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. He waited until the cook was focused on chopping vegetables, the steam hissing as water hit the boil, and walked around the other side of the center island and out the open back door.

He made his way across the field and into the woods. Leaning against a tree near the edge, he caught his breath. He was pushing his body too hard, and he knew better. He couldn't keep this up for very long.

Then again, with any luck, he wouldn't have to. The farm with all those barns, farther than the eye could see, the Andrews place, that was where he had to go. He knew that was where the drugs were being made. That wasn't why he had to go there, though.

He heard a branch snap, followed by a footfall next to him. He swallowed hard as he looked up into a very familiar face. He hadn't wanted to believe it.

The gun was a little hard _not _to believe, though. "Hello, Woody."


	10. All Unraveled

**Tarnished Haven**  
******Chapter Ten: All Unraveled**  
**Rating:** PG-13 (happier territory this time... I think...No, I lied.)  
**Word Count:** 2,953  
**Disclaimer:** I own Crossing Jordan. Um, right. That was a lie. I don't own anything. Except my own insanity. I can't even claim to own DVDs for Crossing Jordan. Okay, I can, but only season 1.  
**Summary:** Life has a way of ruining even the best laid plans. Here's to meeting again.  
**Pairing: **Woody/Jordan (kind of sort of... ok...eventually :) )

**Author's Note: **Yes, there are loose ends. No, I did not tie them in a pretty bow. They just wouldn't let me. Yes, I know there was supposed to be resolution of certain... issues. That also wouldn't cooperate with me. This is what happened. I like it. And I intend to leave it this way until I fix it with the third one.

* * *

**All Unraveled**

"_Hello, Woody."_

_The shaking wracking the other man's body made the gun unsteady and even more dangerous. Damn. He was on whatever this mystery drug was. Given that, it was surprising that he'd managed to recognize Woody at all. But then, there were somethings that you just couldn't forget, ties that couldn't be broken, no matter how hard he tried._

_He licked his lips, struggling against his dry throat. "Why?"_

* * *

"The bird has flown the proverbial coup."

Seely choked on his coffee and turned back to face Nigel. Townsend. It figured. He had just sat down at the counter. Wasn't bad enough that he was here in Podunk hell, that he hadn't eaten in hours, that he was working with Cavanaugh again, but now he had Townsend on his butt as well. He set down the coffee and turned to face the Brit.

"What do you mean?" Seely demanded. Why had he even come? Walcott. Walcott and Cavanaugh. No, this was Cavanaugh's fault. He was willing to believe that, with every fiber of his being. He wanted it to be her fault.

"I mean," Townsend repeated slowly. "The _bird _has flown the coup."

Seely frowned and grabbed Townsend's jacket, pulling him down to ear level. He lowered his voice, knowing that no one would hear him over the loud noises from the kitchen. He could not believe this. "You mean Hoyt is gone?"

"Yes," Townsend agreed, pulling away from Seely's hold. "Now, if you're done, let's go. Quickly. Where's Jordan?"

"Cavanaugh was going to pick up some files and meet me here," Seely said. He shrugged. "Maybe it took her a bit longer than she planned. Weren't you supposed to be watching our little bird? How did he happen to escape?"

"You're not the only one who gets hungry, Detective," Townsend said. He folded his arms over his chest, and looked at his feet, then over at the bed and breakfast. "I wanted to feed the birds."

Seely was getting sick of all this code talk. "Let's go get Cavanaugh. I can't imagine our bird has gotten far, clipped wings and all."

"I hope not," Townsend agreed as Seely put money on the counter for a meal that he would never get to eat. He grunted as he put his wallet back away and left with the Brit. They walked down to the sheriff's office and stepped inside.

The place was empty. No one was in sight. Seely looked at Townsend. Townsend looked at him. Seely took out his side arm and raised it, thumbing off the safety. He edged into the back office, looking at the bare walls and empty seats. He looked back at Townsend, who shrugged. He shook his head and came back out, checking the empty cells quickly.

"This isn't good," Seely said.

"No, really," Townsend muttered under his breath.

* * *

_The laugh was familiar. It hurt. How had they come to this? How had it all gone so wrong? He thought of his words to Jordan. _If there's a great cosmic destiny, then I got screwed. _But he hadn't been the only one affected by what happened. He hadn't been alone. Maybe the circumstances were different, but that didn't mean that he was the only one who suffered._

"_You and your reasons, Woody. Do they even make sense to you?"_

* * *

"Are you one of them?"

Her voice caught in her throat. She stared at the sheriff for a minute. He smiled at her, looking as hometown and benign as ever. He laughed. "My dear doctor, I didn't think you were that stupid."

"Is that a yes?" she asked.

He opened his desk drawer and took out the bullets, dropping them on the desk. He started to load them into his sidearm, still smiling. "What do you think?"

"I think that you have a gun," she said.

"Very good, doctor. But all sheriffs have weapons," he shrugged. "What you have to ask yourself is whether I am a good man or a bad man?"

"I think that depends on what you plan to do _with _the gun," she told him honestly. She was still smiling, and she didn't know why. She should be scared or angry, but she was neither. She was probably borderline hysterical, because she felt like laughing. And none of this was funny.

"I'm preparing to track down a lead," he answered. "I believe that someone is misusing our Haven House program to traffic drugs, just like you do. But, being local, I have a better idea where those drugs are being made. I'm issuing a request for you to accompany me. You are free to come or not as you please."

"Where are we going?" Jordan asked, unsure if she was better off playing along with Matters' "amiable" act, or trying to fight him. He did have a gun. And she wasn't armed. All she could do was go along with him. If she refused, maybe... Maybe he'd let her go.

And maybe she'd get a bullet.

"The Andrews place. It's a big one, pretty secluded. And it's the one where Clyde Sommers was working when he died," Matters supplied. He holstered his gun and took her by the arm, guiding her out of the sheriff's office. Of course he wouldn't be so overt. He had to act like there was nothing wrong in the quaint rural hamlet of Haven.

Even if all of the townspeople were in on it, even if they were all in collusion, he would not act out, not on the off chance that Seely or Nigel would see them. Matters was playing this out to the very end. She forced a nervous smile, looking back at the diner. Matters was leading her away from there, away from the inn. She could only hope that this would prevent him from finding Woody, that it would keep him safe.

"How far is the Andrews place from here?" she looked around, trying for something, anything to give her a hint as to Matters' intentions.

"It's a hike," Matters admitted. "But cutting through the woods actually saves us about half-an-hour. Road's aren't very direct to that place, and we want the outbuildings anyway."

"I thought you wanted professional help with this, Sheriff," Jordan glanced at the woods and wondered how far from town they'd have to be before the shot was ignored. She and Woody hadn't been that far out on their "picnic," and she'd never heard the shot. "Shouldn't we get Detective Seely? And a warrant?"

"For what? I've got no proof, and neither do you," Matters shrugged. "Look at it this way, Doctor. If we find something, we get a warrant. If not, I'm just a friendly neighbor checking up on things. No need to involve the detective if things don't pan out. Wouldn't want him getting in trouble for a bad guess, now would we?"

In a way, his logic made sense. In another, it scared her to death. It was all so perfect. Matters didn't have anything but suspicion, and she was known for going on her instincts, the consequences be damned. If something happened, in the woods or on the farm, he was covered. He hadn't wanted to risk Seely's involvement if there wasn't proof, and he didn't have a warrant. He could do some fast talking if he needed to get out of the trespassing charge, but if Seely was along, it would be almost official.

She was caught, trapped, and she knew it as well as he did. This was no Barney Fife, no happy sitcom. She was in over her head—like always—only this time, she didn't have Woody to back her up. She couldn't count on Nigel or Seely noticing her absence for a while yet.

She had to disarm Matters somehow. She stepped into the woods, twigs snapping under her boot. She looked back at Matters.

And a shot rang out.

* * *

"_More than yours do to you," Woody answered. He shook his head. "You've never known what was up or down, you've never even tried. All you ever did was run, try to escape your problems."_

"_Better than pretending that there weren't any."_

"_Maybe," Woody agreed. Then he watched another seizure pass over the other man, and the gun went off, the bullet burying itself in the tree. "Maybe not."_

* * *

At the sound of the gunshot, Nigel looked at Seely, who wasted no time in running down the street, towards the woods. For once, the ever presentable detective gave no thought to his expensive clothes or shoes. He was going on instinct. Nigel admired him for it, especially since Jordan and Woody's lives were at stake.

Nigel was aware of the townspeople coming out of their dwellings, looking around in confusion. They acted their parts so well, lost and confused, innocent as the American pie image they tried to project. Sadly, they were probably just surprised to hear the shot happen so close to town. None of the other incidents—Clyde's murder, Hank's death, Morehead's murder, or Woody's shooting, had been noticed in the town. One could almost believe that they were ignorant of the charade, but he sincerely doubted it.

Seely reached the edge of the wood and stopped, gun aimed into the trees as he studied the area. Nigel caught up to him, panting a bit. He'd done a little too much sitting at the computer lately. "I think it came from that direction, mate."

"Yeah, maybe," Seely agreed reluctantly. He stepped into the woods, leaves and branches snapping and crackling as he did. For a moment, Nigel was reminded of an absurd commercial for a cereal, and he shoved the thought out of his head. Jordan and Woody were more than likely out here, maybe not together, but they were _here. _He knew it.

"You can stop right there, gentlemen," Matters called out from the trees in front of him. "No need to shoot."

Seely didn't lower his weapon. "Where's Dr. Cavanaugh?"

"Right here," Matters said, pulling Jordan into view. She was the same as she'd been when she left with Seely, with a few more hairs loose than before and some red in her cheeks due to the chill. "She's safe and unharmed, aren't you, Doctor?"

Jordan nodded slowly, looking at Matters. Nigel couldn't see a gun from here, but that didn't mean that there wasn't one behind her back. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Nigel disagreed immediately. He didn't know for sure what was going on, but one thing was for sure. Jordan was _not _fine.

"Did you fire that shot?" Seely demanded, causing Nigel to look back at him. He'd almost forgotten that the detective was there. Amazing, given the man in question.

Matters shook his head. He was putting on one hell of a show for them, and Nigel almost wanted to buy it. But Jordan's wary glances towards the sheriff stopped him. "Nope. But I think I know who did. And why."

"Please," Nigel said, folding his arms over his chest. "Enlighten us."

"Well, if your theory about Haven House is correct, and it has become a front for a drug smuggling operation, well, then... The most likely place for processing is the Andrews farm. Clyde used to work there. And Hank loved them cows of theirs. Swore they had the best milk," Matters explained. Nigel looked at Seely. The detective held his gun steady. "And if Haven House people are involved, Clyde wasn't the only one who failed to rehabilitate with the program."

"Oh?" Nigel asked, watching Jordan carefully. Something was off about the way she was just... standing there. She should be talking, making demands, doing something, anything but just accepting this. "Who else failed the program, Sheriff?"

* * *

"You going to be sanctimonious now?" The word shook as it came out, stumbling in his throat.

Woody shook his head. He was in no position to claim any sort of purity, of conscience, of body, of mind. He was flawed, broken, irrevocably altered and twisted by what had happened to him and what he had done. He would not assert his innocence—that was long gone—or his honor, which had also faded.

"I'm no saint. I never was," he said softly. "But I also never tried to kill my own brother."

Cal shuddered again from the drugs, and Woody thought he shook his head, but it was hard to tell under the circumstances. "You killed Dad. You killed our father."

"Listen to yourself, Cal," Woody said. "The drugs are messing with your head. Dad was killed in a convenience store robbery. He was shot in the back by punk looking for an easy score."

"No," Cal shouted. His finger twitched on the trigger, and Woody flinched involuntarily. "You killed him. You did."

"I didn't kill him," Woody insisted. "Even if that bastard deserved what he got, it wasn't me that did it. Cal, I held him in my arms while he died a slow, agonizing death. You're high. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do!" Cal's finger jerked, and another round hit the tree. Woody took a deep breath, fighting the adrenaline for control of his body. "I know you killed him! You did it! All those years with your pious little act. So noble, so wonderful. Woody never took drugs, never got in trouble... You did it."

Woody couldn't believe this. His brother was completely out of it. He didn't think he'd ever seen Cal this bad, not even when he'd dragged Cal to detox. "I didn't kill Dad. Cal, listen to me. Dad was a deputy. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time—"

"No, it was the _right _place," Cal snapped. "You made it the right place. You set it up to look like someone else did it."

Woody looked at his brother, unable to reach him. The hallucinogen that was mixed in there had probably caused Cal to see some twisted version of what happened back then, and now Cal was convinced that it was the truth. He wouldn't get through to his brother while he was like this, if he ever did again.

"You took away my father, Woody," Cal said. He tried to steady the gun. "We needed a father."

"We didn't need a drunk," Woody snapped, anger causing him to step forward. "We didn't need a bastard who beat us. And I sure as hell didn't need a son-of-a-bitch who raped me."

"You're lying!" Cal said. "You're making it all up! Dad didn't do that. You just used it as an excuse. That's what it is, an excuse!"

The sound of someone nearby had Cal whipping the gun in that direction, pointing it at Sheriff Matters. Matters had his gun raised, pointed at Cal, and so did Seely. Seely? When the hell had that happened? Nigel, Jordan, Seely... Guess the gang was all there. "Put it down, son."

"No, I'm not your son," Cal said angrily. "Don't tell me what to do. Everyone always tells me what to do. Especially you."

Cal looked over at Woody, but he kept the gun pointed at Matters. Woody swallowed hard. It was a standoff that Cal had no hope of winning, not in his state. But then again, that was exactly what Matters wanted. He wanted to tie up the loose end, and Cal was that loose end.

Matters held up his free hand. "All right, easy now. You're not my son. But put the gun down."

"No," Cal said coldly, eyes snapping back to Matters. Woody reached for Cal's gun as Cal pulled the trigger. Matters fired at the same time. The round would have been fatal, but Woody had pulled Cal sideways when he went for the gun, and it clipped his shoulder instead. Cal moaned, rolling around.

Woody freed the gun from Cal's lax hold and aimed it at Matters. "Now you put it down."

"That was self-defense!" Matters cried. "You all saw it. Drifter, don't do anything crazy now. I know, he's your brother, but he tried to kill me."

"He never would have hit you," Woody said coldly. "But _I _will."

"Woody," Jordan began, but Nigel put a hand on her arm.

"You thought you'd play the hero, didn't you?" Woody went on, watching Matters carefully. "Cal is a convenient scapegoat. And with him would go all the evidence against you, right? Only it won't work. You and your whole operation... are finished."

"Damn you, Drifter," Matters said.

Before he could fire again, Woody had already squeezed the trigger. Damn, the pain must have affected his aim, because that bullet was supposed to hit his heart. Matters dropped to the ground, holding his wounded shoulder, and Seely walked over, holding his gun on Matters as Nigel took away the sheriff's weapon.

Jordan rushed over to Cal, who was muttering to himself as he rocked back and forth, holding his shoulder. She checked the wound. "It's not bad. I'm more worried about whatever he's on."

Woody looked down at his brother and back at Matters. "And him?"

"He'll live," Nigel assured them.

Woody acknowledged that absently, his head in a fog, and then he stumbled over to the tree and vomited. His stomach was empty, but it wouldn't stop heaving. Cal's angry accusations rang in his ears. _You killed him. _Woody couldn't stop them. He rolled over and leaned his back against the tree, closing his eyes.

Jordan leaned down next to him, taking him into her arms as he shuddered. She touched his face, causing him to look up at her. "You're coming home with me."

He nodded weakly. It was enough for now.


End file.
